52: Chapter 52 The Punisher's Gunshots

After saying this, Yan Zheng encountered another, more direct problem.

Lying in bed, Yan Zheng released his Material Perception pulse outward as usual.

The number of gray light spots within a two-hundred-meter radius was normal: three, distributed in the alley at the northeast corner, which were remnants of a gang conflict that Skeleton Soldier No. 1 hadn't had time to collect yesterday.

But beyond the two-hundred-meter radius, about four hundred meters away in the direction of the North District, the edge of his perception captured a series of highly abnormal signals.

One.

Two.

Three, four, five.

Six, seven, eight, nine, ten.

Eleven.

Eleven gray light spots appeared one after another in less than four minutes, all concentrated in the same area, with a density so high it was as if someone had opened a wholesale store there.

Yan Zheng: (ꐦ˘ꈊ˘)

He sat up from the bed.

"Four minutes, eleven people, the same location."

"It's not a gang shootout. Gang shootouts are two-way, and the distribution of casualties would have spatial differences."

"This is a one-way Carnage."

Yan Zheng got out of bed, walked barefoot to the window, parted a gap in the curtains, and looked toward the North District.

He couldn't see anything in the night, but he could perceive those eleven gray light spots quietly lying on the same coordinates, like a neatly stacked tray of goods.

"Who could take down eleven armed gang members in four minutes?"

"The Hand ninjas could, but ninjas wouldn't leave so many corpses; they have their own disposal process."

"The Red Devil doesn't kill, so rule him out."

"Kingpin's thugs aren't this efficient. They're good at brawling, but not special operations."

Yan Zheng: (ꉺ꒳ꉺ)

He went back to sit on the edge of the bed, turned on his phone, and scrolled through the news feed.

There were no reports; an event at three in the morning wouldn't become news until dawn.

"I'll look into it tomorrow."

Yan Zheng lay back down, but his mind didn't stop.

"Eleven people in four minutes."

"If it was done by one person, this combat efficiency has already exceeded the scope of ordinary gangs and vigilantes."

"But it doesn't reach the level of a superpowered individual."

"Between the two, there is only one kind of person."

He turned over and pulled the blanket to his shoulders.

"A professional killer with systematic military training."

The next afternoon, Yan Zheng went to Old Jack's bar.

The atmosphere in the bar was a shade darker than the last time he came, and the daytime drunks slumped on the bar counter had gone from "half-dead" to "completely dead."

Old Jack was reading a newspaper behind the counter, and he didn't even look up when Yan Zheng pushed the door open.

"Boss Yan, what would you like to drink today?"

"Plain water is fine, Jack, I came to ask you something."

"Go ahead and ask."

Yan Zheng sat down in a corner seat and took the glass of warm water handed to him by Old Jack.

"What happened in the North District yesterday morning?"

Old Jack's gaze peered over the top of the newspaper, sweeping over Yan Zheng.

"You're quite well-informed."

"I live close by, so I heard some noise."

"Hmph." Old Jack folded the newspaper and slapped it on the counter, pulling out a pack of cigarettes from underneath and lighting one.

"Yesterday morning at three o'clock, the Irish hangout on 52nd Street in the North District was taken out."

"How many died?"

"Eleven."

"A gang shootout?"

"No." Old Jack exhaled a puff of smoke, lowering his voice even further. "Done by one person."

Yan Zheng: (˵ꐦ˘ᗜ˘˵)

"One person?"

"Caught on surveillance." Old Jack pulled his phone out of his apron pocket, swiped a couple of times, and handed it over. "An old buddy of mine who works as a clerk at the Ninth Precinct secretly took a screenshot this morning and sent it to me."

On the screen was a blurry surveillance screenshot. In the image, a burly man was walking out of the back door of a building, wearing black tactical body armor with a huge white skull logo painted right in the center of his chest.

He held a shotgun in his right hand and a still-smoking pistol in his left, his stride as steady as if he had just walked out of a gym.

"The Punisher." Old Jack took his phone back, flicking his ashes into the ashtray. "Frank Castle, former Marine. His family was killed in a gang crossfire in Central Park two years ago—his wife and two kids, all gone."

"He's been crazy ever since, killing gang members all over New York. The Police caught him three times, and he escaped three times."

Yan Zheng took a sip from his water glass, his expression as flat as if he were listening to neighborhood gossip.

"His military skills are very high?"

"That's an understatement." Old Jack stubbed out his cigarette and tapped his fingers on the counter twice. "A former Marine sniper, word is he received several commendations in Afghanistan and Iraq, and taught tactical classes in the military for two years after returning."

"To put it bluntly, this guy is a killing machine that the U.S. government spent tens of millions of dollars to train, and now he's off the leash."

Yan Zheng: (ꐦ˘͈꒳˘͈)

"Why has he been showing up in Hells Kitchen lately?"

"You still don't get it?" Old Jack rolled his eyes. "Kingpin and The Hand have started fighting. Hells Kitchen is crawling with gang thugs running around with guns. To The Punisher, this is an all-you-can-eat buffet."

"He goes wherever the fighting is fiercest. Once the fight is over, he puts a bullet in any survivors. Clean and efficient."

Yan Zheng set his water glass on the table, his finger silently tracing a line along the rim.

"How does he clean up the scene after killing people?"

Old Jack tilted his head, his look toward Yan Zheng carrying a hint of "why do you care about that?"

"He doesn't. He just leaves after killing. The bodies are left for the Police to collect. He doesn't care about traces, nor does he care about being caught on surveillance."

"This guy's logic is very simple: kill all the bad guys, and he doesn't care if he dies or not."

Yan Zheng leaned back against his chair, the lenses of his gold-rimmed glasses reflecting the dim lights of the bar.

"Jack, is there any pattern to the areas he operates in?"

"Mainly the North District; he kills the most in the territories of the Irish Gang and the Italian Gang." Old Jack thought for a moment and added, "But recently, after Kingpin and The Hand started fighting, his range of activity expanded southward, and he sometimes appears in Midtown."

"Expanding southward."

"Yeah, probably won't be long before he reaches your area."

Yan Zheng stood up, pulled five dollars out of his pocket, and slapped it on the counter.

"Jack, thanks."

"Boss Yan," Old Jack called out from behind him.

"Hmm?"

Old Jack, with an unlit cigarette in his mouth, squinted his eyes at him.

"You asked about Daredevil's patrol patterns, and now you're asking about The Punisher's areas of activity."

"Are you an antique dealer or an intelligence broker?"

Yan Zheng turned back and smiled at him, pushing open the bar door.

"Jack, the essence of the antique business is just information asymmetry."

"Knowing where the good stuff is is more important than having money."

Yan Zheng: (˵≖ᗜ≖˵)

That night, at two in the morning.

Yan Zheng lay in bed, his Material Perception pulse scanning on a timer.

Sure enough, dense gray light spots appeared again in the direction of the North District.

This time there were seven, with an even shorter interval than yesterday, all extinguished within three minutes.

"Mr. Punisher, you really are my free porter."

Yan Zheng issued a command in his consciousness, and Skeleton Soldier No. 1 and No. 3 Skeleton Soldier set off along the pre-planned pipeline routes.

"You're in charge of killing, and I'm in charge of collecting."

"This division of labor between us is even more tacit than my cooperation with Boss Liu."

He rolled over and closed his eyes, his lips curling into an arc in the darkness.

"The question is, when will this gentleman kill a Mutant for me to try something new?"